To the neighbors downstairs

Dear downstairs neighbors,

Did you enjoy my little show? Clearly you did because none of you will let me forget it. Every time I step out onto my porch and one of you is outside, I can see you chuckle. Well, I'd like the opportunity to explain my side of the events that took place that day. Here goes:

That morning before work I noticed several house flies in my kitchen. Harmless enough, they were buzzing around my screen door which opens out onto the porch—the very porch that overlooks your yard. There is a small hole in the screen and they must have flown in pursuing leftovers from last night. I tidied the kitchen up, swatted the flies I could see with a magazine, and went on my way to work.

It was a very hot, humid, July day. Walking home from the train station that evening, I worked up quite a sweat. After I got in the door, I went straight for the refrigerator to get a can of soda. Popping the can, I began to guzzle it down standing right in front of the fridge. Savoring the sweet chemical taste of my diet cherry Pepsi, it wasn't until I was almost finished with the can that I heard it. The sound of...a swarm of bees. A sound you might hear on National Geographic or on a horror film after the hero discovers a basement full of fly-ridden cadavers. Not a sound that should be in my kitchen. Slowly...so slowly...I turned around to face the rest of the room.

To my complete horror, hundreds of flies were amassed around every light source in the room—the screen door, the window screen, and the overhead light. Swarming, teeming, buzzing, big, fat, hairy house flies had completely taken over my kitchen. I dropped my soda on the floor, ran down the hallway to my room, and slammed the door behind me. In a panic I whipped out my cell phone and made a desperate call to my landlord. Voicemail. I left my Korean landlord who barely speaks english a 5 minute message about the state of my kitchen—comparing it to the Amityville Horror in between stifled sobs and sniffles. I doubted if he would understand one in 10 words.

Trapped in my bedroom, I had to come up with a course of action. I refused to be quarantined. There was still dinner to be had. Alas, I had nothing to kill them with. Running around with a magazine swatting solitary flies simply wouldn't do. What if they gang up and attack me at once? I'd be completely overwhelmed. I pictured a cloud of flies swarming all over me, touching me with their hairy, prickly feet that had no doubt been sitting in dog shit the day before. I'd heard that when a house fly lands on a surface they immediately vomit...something about emptying their stomach contents to discern if something is edible or not. I don't know. Maybe it's true. Maybe its not. All I know is that I was not about to get ralphed on by hundreds of flies. I had to get them out of the house. I had to open the kitchen window and porch door and set them all free. But, I had to do it without them all touching me.

So, I did what any sane person would have done. I donned the comforter off of my bed, wrapped it tightly around myself in the middle of July, put on a pair of slippers and winter gloves, and prepared for battle. Ingenious. Feeling my way back out the bedroom door and down the hallway was easy. As I got closer, the humming got louder. My knees started to wobble, but I would not be deterred. I continued creeping towards the kitchen.

Window first. I steeled myself and edged towards the window sill. Gloved hands felt their way to the window screen. The buzzing and humming was so loud...I can still hear it today. Blindly I searched for the two push buttons that would unlock the screen and allow me to push it upwards. My thick winter gloves were detrimental to my dexterity. For what seemed like hours I fumbled with the screen. Oh God. I can't do this in gloves. Panic started to rise. I'll just have to open the screen door instead. Abandoning the window, I felt my way towards the screen door. Flies continued to dive bomb my head through the blanket. It felt like heavy rain drops. Suddenly my feet felt wet through my slippers. Jesus Christ what's wet? What could possibly be wet? Did flies get through a hole in my slippers? Is it fly guts? Are they vomiting all over my feet? Trepidation took over and I just bolted towards the screen door. All caution was abandoned entirely.

Out the door I burst with a huge bang, spilling out onto the porch wrapped in a disheveled blanket, gloves, and slippers. A horde of flies followed me, some escaping into the sky, some tangled in my blanket alongside me. I could feel them all over, making skin contact, and started shrieking, flailing, and weeping. Struggling for several minutes I threw my gloves off and kicked the fly-ridden blanket to the porch floor. Then I saw it.

Imagine my surprise to see you were having a family cook-out in your backyard. Parents, grandparents, children, and even your little dog Rusty were all staring up at me. Silent. Mouths agape. The only sound was my heavy breathing. The children were the first to laugh. Then you laughed. Then your parents laughed. Rusty seemed to howl with delight.

With quiet calm and dignity I picked up my belongings and retreated back inside. I proceeded to scrub my entire apartment floor to ceiling with bleach, including the spilled soda all over the floor (which was not in fact fly guts or vomit). Sure, all trace of flies would be gone, but the laughter and embarrassment remained.

Late into the night I scrubbed and cleaned. Around 11:00 I flopped into bed, exhausted and hoping that tomorrow this would all seem like a bad dream. At midnight my landlord showed up.

The next morning when I took a cup of tea outside onto my porch and started watering some potted plants, your children ran outside and started playing tag. When they saw me up above they immediately stopped and started wiggling and dancing around in circles, all the while shrieking and laughing. Indignant, I took my tea inside.

Days have gone by and both you and your children continue to mock me. If you were being savaged by flies, I think you would have had the same reaction, no? I just want to use my porch in peace and put this ugliness behind me.

The other day when I had a friend over, we sat outside for a bit. Then your kids came running out playing Captain Hook. Once again, as soon as they spotted me they stopped what they were doing and started flailing around and screaming again.

"What's wrong with them?" Asks my friend.

"Turrets." I reply, and usher him back inside.

So, as you can see, there is a perfectly good explanation why your crazy neighbor was out on his porch in a blanket and winter garb fighting with phantoms in July. If you continue to mock me in my own backyard...well...let's just say I know where you live. Pass the message onto your little darlings.